Watershed

This morning as I sit warm and safe in my bed, my laptop balanced on my knees, a cup of hot coffee beside me, and my cat Gatto, stretching in the sunshine on the corner of the bed, I think how fortunate I am at this moment.

I'm not elderly and frail, I am not in the confusion of youth, but I am a little more settled and objective than in my thirties. My third marriage has been, without a doubt, the most exhausting and rewarding relationship I have yet experienced, my adult children come a close second. I may not know exactly what I absolutely love to have around me, but I certainly know what I dislike, and don't try to pretend otherwise.

I have been a cancer patient for 27 years, and even though it certainly feels like an entire lifetime, there are moments I still find it difficult to comprehend the Dr's. are talking about me.

I'll inevitably talk about all that as time goes on, it would be difficult to carry on about myself without including the intrigue and drama of vulvar and anal cancer.

For the moment though, I live in my Grandparents home with my Husband, CG, and my Baltic grandmother. My grandfather has been in hospice for almost three years and CG and me moved here to be close to both of them, and to take over the care of the family home. Grandmother was to go into care to be with Papa when we arrived, safe in the knowledge the home and all 'the memories' would be looked after well and she and Papa could be together in the new Aged Care facility. That was what she wanted and talked about for two years.

It was bullshit.

Twelve months later she is still here, still lying and still a narcissist. She has faked two heart attacks for the attention and been flown dramatically by air ambulance to Sydney twice, only for the Drs to find there is nothing wrong with her other than a personality disorder, which needs no attention. Test after test found nothing and the fact is, she is as strong as an ox, always was.

It seems CG and me were the last to discover just how manipulative she actually is. I mean she is my Nona, but wow, has she turned mean. But as i look back with open eyes I see, as I had been told my other family members, she has always been this way. The thing that gets me is we would never have contemplated for a moment living under the same roof with her, especially as only six weeks prior to our move here CG had a triple by pass, and her histrionics were the last thing he needed.
What was ever between her and me is almost eroded away to nothing. Suffice to say, sadly, one day she really will need medical help and what then?

We are still here because of Papa, visiting him often and actually we both love the Australian Outback. There is something surreal about this magnificent desert landscape and a strength that cannot help but infuse one with resilience and hope.

Nona plays a very minor part in the play and though she is not very happy about it, there is not much she can do as her games over the years have become glaringly obvious to all concerned, which has humiliated her tremendously.

So, bravely, she has had to learn to function without an audience and as much as she dislikes it she may learn to enjoy her own company. She is actually out of options. It gives me such a kick to see her laugh genuinely and tell her truth firmly but gently. Sadly, this does not happen often, but when it does I almost feel to tell her 'Good girl'! I suppose at 84 she is allowed to get away with a few things, and yes, there are things in her past she would prefer to remember in her own particular peculiar way, but all the same, out right manipulation and her 'magical misery tour', which is all aboard every morning at 8.30am, is not entertained by me or by CG. I'll leave all that to the Home care girls and the neighbours who know her and love her anyway. As one of them told me, 'we do a dance around each other and it keeps us both happy, but I don't have to live with her'.

In amongst this intensity that hangs in the air there is constant awareness that any moment I can spiral down into a depression that is bottomless. It feels as though this switch is a hair triggered mechanism threatening to send me 'away' from me again. None of this is obviously good for anyone, and realistically I can rationalize this perfectly, yet the sadness and pointlessness at times bears down with such force I wonder how long can anything survive in this state.

It has been a matter of vigilance in picking up the right tools at the right time, and this includes all kinds of things such as fabulous books which I can open at any page and feel the edge taken off, or simply stopping and becoming mindful of my breathing. Probably mindfulness has been the most helpful as I can count on it anywhere and remember I don't have to be so reactive to stuff which I have no real control over, and that's pretty much everything outside myself. Remembering this has been the most awkward for me because I naturally jump in there and turn into Miss Fix-it. I tend to stand back a little more these days and let life do what life will do without too much interference from me. So simple in theory!

These pages I write will be an exercise in which some of the workings of my inner world may become a little clearer and provide me with a deeper understanding about the woman I have become. The unique result of the myriad of life experiences that have come my way. Self centred to say the least, adventurous at best, but no matter how it seems, it will be honest work and the safe place I can come and just be, no questions.